


Not Alone

by EatCheeseEveryday, LyricOcean



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game), Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Based off of Misfits, F/F, F/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9318062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EatCheeseEveryday/pseuds/EatCheeseEveryday, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyricOcean/pseuds/LyricOcean
Summary: Blackwell is up and running, and different forces are running with it. Inspired by Misfits.Max has powers, but this time she’s not the only one. Something ominous is happening at Blackwell, but this time it’s not just Blackwell. A storm is coming, but this time it’s not just a storm.





	1. Max - Fury Road

Light has a different way of falling in Arcadia Bay. You don’t notice when you’ve lived there long enough, but when you’re returning like me it’s one of the first things you notice. It’s not something I can really describe; things are slightly mottled, blotchy but with clarity, like you’re viewing reality from a telescope somewhere far away. I found it jarring when I first got off the plane, and maybe I still do, but it gets easier. My first few days here have been just as blurry -- getting settled into the dorms, meeting people, trying to remember names and faces and directions… it’s a lot to fit into my head, So it blurs. I have moments walking around where I feel blurred too, my skin blurred into my bones blurred into my thoughts until I worry everyone knows what I’m thinking. I know it’s stupid. But that doesn’t mean I can help it. 

I realise I’ve been looking down at my feet as I’ve been walking, fixated. I look up and straighten my neck, my free hand going to fix my hair, eyes automatically flicking around to see if anyone was watching. I really don’t need to make a fool of myself on my first day back in town. Especially not before I’ve even got through the doors of Blackwell Academy. I can see it in the distance as I walk, a looming brick giant swarmed by hordes of students, featureless and anonymous. I don’t know if I’m more scared of the school or the students. I think I’m just scared, full stop. 

Blackwell Academy has one of the most highly regarded photography programs in the country, which by some miracle I got into from a scholarship. There’s a lot of different feelings I have going into that, mostly fear I won’t be good enough. I have this recurring nightmare where on my first day the teacher comes up to my desk -- his voice is always so patronising -- and he says “I’m sorry, Max, there seems to be a mistake. You’re not talented enough to be here. If you just pack your bags now we can get you back to Seattle before you embarrass yourself further…” The dream always ends with me waking up panting, my stomach a knot of anxiety as it is now. I keep telling myself it’s just a dream, but when it repeats itself as much as this one is I have to wonder. There’s another nightmare too, though this is more of a memory, and that’s Chloe. Last time I saw her she was screaming at me, tears tracing her eyes as her voice turned hoarse from the volume, her words indistinguishable by the end. I thought I’d see murder when I looked into her eyes but all I saw was sadness, and somehow that made it worse. She didn’t want me to go to Seattle in the first place, was already in a bad space because of her father’s death not too long ago. I wanted to stay, I really did… but also there was a part of me that wanted to leave. 

But now none of that matters because I’m back here, walking across the leaf-scattered parking lot with Blackwell growing closer and closer, trying to breathe normally. I almost feel like I have it under control, at least momentarily, until--

An ear splitting horn noise pierces the air, scaring nine types of shit out of me, and I have to step back to avoid the receiving end of vehicular homicide. As I step back I trip and fall ungracefully onto my ass, momentarily knocking the wind out of me and instantly pissing me off.

A red series 4 Convertible BMW screeches to a halt in front of me. I know nothing about cars, but my dad does, and this is one of the models he never shuts up about. I get up to my feet half expecting to see him, but instead I see two shocked faces, and one amused shit-eating grin chewing away at what appears to be gum.

One of the three guys in the car makes a gesture at me, pulling away from his ear. I reluctantly take an earbud out, wary to hear what he has to say. Something tells me it’s not an apology. 

“Might wanna consider *not* listening to music while crossing a road, you could’a scratched the paint on my favourite chick magnet!” yells an obnoxious-sounding British accent. Charming. 

“It’s called defensive driving,” I shoot back, my race turning red. “You should try it sometime.”

The driver, a guy in a navy-blue sweater over a white button-up shirt peers over the windshield. “Are you okay? Nothing broken, right?” At least there’s one person here with some sense, I think, looking at him. He has a kind face, at least. 

“Um… no,” I say lamely.

The grinning asshole in the passenger seat rolls his eyes. “Be more careful next time, I don’t need to be an accessory to manslaught’a, too much ‘assle,” he says, then actually chuckles. I had no idea nearly killing someone was funny, but I don’t dare voice the thought.

Instead I just nod, not wanting to make enemies out of these guys before I even set foot on campus. These guys are clearly going to be a pain in the ass, and that’s the last thing I need this year. I step out of the way before passenger seat can bitch further, however the driver just stares at me in an unnerving way, unmoving. 

His friend in the passenger seat notices this, swats him on the arm. “Wake up, Jack. As much as I enjoy seeing a hipster get twated, it’s cold out.”

The driver, Jack, blinks rapidly and nods quickly. “Right, sorry.” Putting his left hand back on the gear stick and driving off, passenger seat dude turns their music back on; ear-piercing ACDC (Back in Black if I’m not mistaken), blares throughout the parking lot as they screech through like they own the place. And so goes my first experience talking to fellow Blackwell students. You may as well just shoot me now.

I groan and keep on walking, trying to put distance between me and that car. It’s what, not even the first day, and I’ve already pissed someone off. Great going, Caulfield. 

Blackwell gets closer and closer and suddenly I’m walking under its shadow, breathing in a thousand new smells -- pine trees, cigarettes, different perfumes and colognes (“People use that stuff here?” I wonder, slightly excited). The featureless, anonymous students are up close now and no longer featureless, their faces a boiling pot of different facial features, different expressions. I catch snippets of conversation as I walk around -- “No way! She did how many of the soccer team? You’re fucking lyi-”, and “-And our new teacher, have you seen him? I’d fuck him in a heartbeat if Rachel hadn’t al-”, and “Christ, this place looked a lot less of a shithole on the website.” Some things never change, I guess. I can’t tell if I find that comforting or not. 

I keep walking, trying to find my bearings. I’m looking for the girls’ dorms, specifically Room 219, so I can dump my stuff off and call it a day. Call me lame, but all this travelling has made me tired. Nothing half as exciting as this ever happened to me in Seattle, believe it or not. Well. There was that freak storm, but I’m not thinking about that right now. Can’t think about it. I’ve got way too much on my mind as it is. 

“Hey. You look lost. Are you okay?” A voice interrupts my thoughts and I turn. The voice belongs to a girl with honey-coloured hair up in a bun, a cross around her neck and a kind look in her eyes. She tilts her head slightly, making it clear she’s talking to me. 

“Oh, um…” Just admit you’re lost. “I’m sorry, I think I might be. Do you know where the girls’ dorms are?”

“Of course! I’m heading there too, I’d be happy to show you the way.” 

“That would be great,” I smile, relieved to find a friendly face. We start walking and I immediately feel more comfortable in the crowd. “Um, I’m Max. I’m kind of new here.”

“Nice to meet you, Max! I’m Kate.” She pauses slightly as we pass a particularly loud group and rolls her eyes at me when one of the group members randomly screams. “Um, anyway,” she continues as we both laugh, “I got here a few days early so I could have a look around before the crowds settled in. If you’re wondering how I know the layout. I’ve been sneaking around like a detective,” she says, miming creeping, and we both laugh again. I decide I like this girl already. I can just picture her walking around an empty Blackwell, backpack on her back and notebook in her hand, mapping the place out like a new unexplored territory. Which, of course, it is. 

“The girls’ dorms are just up here,” she says, pointing to a nondescript building atop which a rooftop can be seen. I instantly get shivers looking at it, though I’m not sure why. Judging from Kate’s uneasy expression she’s thinking the same as me. “I’d hate to fall from somewhere that high,” she frowns, the mood momentarily glum. Then we keep walking further, inside the building, and the feeling is lost. 

There’s a blur of names again -- Dana, Victoria, Brooke, Alyssa. I help Kate find her room in all the crowds then collapse into mine, 219, the room at the end of the hall. It smells of an absence of human life, though no doubt we’ll fix that soon. I just hope the girls here aren’t too into spray deodorant. 

As I set my bags down and stare at the blank, empty walls of my new home, I feel nothing but a sense of fulfilled exhaustion. I only mean to close my eyes for a little while, but as I lie down on my new bed the fatigue creeps into my bones, and I fall asleep thinking of storms. One in particular. 

My storm.


	2. New Kids on the block

Victoria’s POV

“Why the fuck do I have to do all the carrying again?” Nathan whines, grabbing a particularly heavy suitcase from the trunk of the car. MY particularly heavy suitcase, to be exact. My car, too. Nathan Prescott, everyone: town rich kid, Vortex Club party host, my best friend and unofficial brother. I’d tell you I’d do anything for him, but nobody ever means that when they say it, so instead I’ll say I’d do almost anything for him. It means the same in the end. 

“You were the one bragging about being the macho man,” I snort in reply, lightly punching his shoulder. I don’t punch him too hard, though -- he does look like he’s ready to fall over from the weight of the packs, his face as red as the leaves that litter the pavement. He unloads the last of our stuff -- admittedly most of it mine -- and slams the trunk of my car with a satisfying thud. I read somewhere that manufacturers make it sound like that, when you close a door, to give the illusion the car is more solid and stable than it really is. Watching Nathan, I can’t help but feel the same about him. God, I hope he’ll be okay this year.

“Yeah, but I’m only thinking about you lifting a little, you’re the exercise freak here.” ‘Freak’? Since when was physical maintenance abnormal? And this is coming from the golden boy of many a sports team. 

“Um, excuse me, have you seen this glorious body? This kind of perfection doesn’t come easy.” We start walking across the carpark, in the direction of the girls’ dorms. I do feel a little bad making Nate lug all my stuff for me, but not enough to lug it myself. I need to present a certain image right from the start. Even a walk across the courtyard here will be a form of business exchange. “Now, stop complaining and hurry up.”

As we walk across the parking lot I hear Nathan pick up the pace with what sounds like the slightest faint sound of a fatty grunt. “And no, I haven’t seen that ‘glorious body’, wanna enlighten me, Vic?” The smile on Nathan’s face is obviously friendly in nature, though the way he says it unnerves me a bit.

“Maybe you can join in when I give Mark Jefferson a private show,” I laugh, shaking it off. Mark Jefferson is somewhat of an inside joke between us by this point; there was even a Vortex Club competition to see who could get in his pants first. Not that any of us did, as far as I know, but hey, a girl can dream. 

Nathan raises an eyebrow, starts to reply, but he’s cut off by a loud voice from across the parking lot.

“Fuck me mate, it’s even shitter than I knew it would be.” The words are crude, dirty somehow, forcing my attention onto them. I could be wrong but he sounds like a Londoner, and judging by his weird pronunciation, I’d say the east end of it. I’ve been to London a few times with my parents on art exchanges, though I admittedly never saw much of the city. ‘Too much work and not enough time’, my father always said, but as I grew older it became less of a joke and more of a lecture. 

“Stop judging!” replies another voice, this one sounding like he comes from a little closer to home.

Across the parking lot I can see them. Three dudes carrying bags, one of them swaggering like he’s onstage at a concert, the two others kind of following behind. The three fucking stooges, shouting at the top of their lungs.

Nate leans in as we walk. “Who the fuck are they? I’ve never seen these guys around town before…”

“I don’t know, but they seem… loud,” I settle on, eyeing them up. It’s strange hearing an English accent in real life. Almost surreal, to a degree. 

The newcomers catch on to our staring and one of them, a tall dirty-blonde dude in a leather jacket with a gaunt face, decides to direct his incessant yelling at us. Bad move.

“Oi! Why not take a picture, pervs? It might last long’a!”

“You’re not worthy to even stand in front of my camera, asshat!” I shoot back, hoping my face isn’t turning red.

Nathan growls, dropping my bags (nice one) and takes a step forward. “You know who the fuck you’re talking to, you ignorant fucks? We run this shit hole!” I can feel this escalating already. Looking at his face, the suddenly dark look in his eyes, I feel a sudden shock of fear course through me. These guys really don’t know what they’re getting into. 

The leather-clad prick snorts, cracking his neck. “Fuck are you lad, ‘er boyfriend or somethin’?”

The guy on the left, a dark-haired guy wearing a navy blue sweater, steps forward. “Excuse us.” I appreciate that, the attempt at de-escalation, though I doubt it’ll work. He must have seen the look in Nathan’s eyes too.

Sweater Boy pulls the British prick away by the arm, looking slightly urgent. “Lazlo, seriously? It’s been like two minutes and already you’re starting shit with people? Come on, we talked about this.” I take a nervous glance at Nathan, who’s unmoving, breathing very slowly. There’s a dangerous glint is in his eye that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.

The guy Sweater Boy just called ‘Lazlo’ simply chuckles, unaware. “Alright mate, calm your shit. Just wanted to check out the wildlife.”

Nathan surges forwards, eyes bulging. His knuckles are white over clenched fists. “You fuckers don’t get it, we OWN this fucking school. My father owns this fucking town! You better line the fuck up or else!”

Lazlo turns to face him, taking a step forward and gazes down at him. My heart quickens at how this might escalate. I haven’t seen Nathan this angry in a long time. I want to scream at Lazlo to take a step back, to run away, but my throat is too dry to so much as whisper. Judging from the look on his face, Sweater Boy seems to be in a similar internal struggle.

“Or else what, you jumped-up little shit?” he utters quietly with a smirk on his face, and somehow he’s even more menacing when he speaks softly. His face doesn’t put my mind at ease either; I mean, he isn’t an ugly guy, quite the opposite actually, but he’s pretty close up now. I can just about make out a slightly cut lip and the fading blue-ish blemishes of a black eye on the left side of his face. Clearly this isn’t his first rodeo at picking fights.

“Hey! What the hell is going on!?” A scream snaps us out of the argument, and all heads turn to face David Madsen: Security Officer of Blackwell and Killjoy Extraordinaire. I don’t like the guy, but I could almost kiss him now. 

“Obviously there’s been a mixup,” I say before anyone else can get a word in, my mouth finally working. “Blackwell seems to have enrolled a group of apes instead of students.” Shut up, Victoria, just shut up. Mr Madsen’s dark eyes flit between us and the new kids suspiciously, his slow brain no doubt struggling to get a hold of the situation. He doesn’t like me either, he’s made that quite clear, but then again I don’t think there’s anyone he truly likes. 

David’s eyes flicker with poorly-masked spite as he recognises the perpetrators. One of them anyway. “Why am I not surprised you’re involved with this, Lazlo?” Oh? This should be interesting.

Lazlo shrugs absent-mindedly with a cocky grin on his stupid face. The nerve of this guy makes my blood boil. Nathan’s too, as we almost experienced firsthand. 

“Don’t play innocent with me you little…..” he trails off, glancing over at this Lazlo’s entourage, and back at us. “I came out here to make sure everyone is on the way to the main hall, and you’re already stirring trouble. I want you out of my sight and on-campus in the next five minutes. You hear me?”

“Sure thing, chief.” Lazlo replies smugly. Now that I’ve heard his voice next to Madsen’s I can’t help but notice they sound pretty similar; they both have that coarse and gravelly voice, the kind of voice you’d find on your every day douchebag.

“Shut it!” Madsen yells suddenly, making me jump just slightly. God, I hope nobody noticed that. How embarrassing. “Don’t think you’re off the hook neither; at some time today, you and I are gonna have a nice little chat about you and that business with your uncle and the principal. We clear?”

“Crystal.” Lazlo replies, looking like he’s holding back a laugh.

I roll my eyes at Nathan as our little group disbands, the one they called Lazlo giving a final mocking hoot at us as he goes. “We’re gonna have to seriously watch these guys,” I tell Nate, like he doesn’t already know. “There’s no fucking way they’re joining the Vortex, that’s for sure.”

“You think?” Nathan growls. “Those guys are gonna be bad news….” He’s quiet for a while as we walk, my bags back in his arms, and then his eyes widen. “Vic, you think they might make others question us? We can’t have anyone just come in and upset the natural order, it’ll be fucking chaos!”

“We’ll set them in place,” I try to reassure him. “Your family owns this whole fucking town, we can get them expelled if we need to. It’ll be fine.”

“For sure. The minute orientation is over, I want a Vortex club meeting in five.”

\- Ten minutes later - 

Jack’s POV

“Well I think that was a retarded idea, Lazlo,” I groan as I throw my suitcase onto my bed. Lazlo leans against the wall with his lucky hip flask in hand. Drinking? This early? This is a new low even for him.

“Listen matey, I know these sorts a’ kids, I been dealin’ with their sort for a very long time back in England. They’re fucking snakes, and you don’t do diplomacy with snakes, that’s how you get bitten and poisoned by their bullshit.” 

The other occupant in the room, Alex, my best friend since he was 6 and I was 7, chimes in with, “Well if you have to make enemies, it might have been smart to wait until you have more of a foothold, eh? Who knows how much pull they have, they could make yours, and our lives, a living hell. I’m really not in the mood for a living hell.” 

“It will be fine, relax for fuck’s sake.” He sighs in a bored way and takes another swig of his flask.

Orientation is taking place in the school hall, a long brick building with bad air conditioning. I haven’t been in, but I don’t need to have been -- the complaints I heard as we walked to the dorms suggest an almost legendary status, a reverse icebox loved by none and hated by all. It’s not something I’m exactly looking forward to, but nobody else really seems to be looking forward to it either, so I guess we’ll suffer through it together.

We walk into the hall fashionably late and slowly. According to Lazlo this is par for the course when establishing yourself in a school. As to why I’m listening to Lazlo…. That’s a very good question. Don’t get me wrong, Lazlo isn’t a bad guy despite what he’d have you believe, but it’s obvious he’s from a rough neighborhood. I’m just scared he’ll severely hurt someone one of these days. He does have good will for most people… but he also has one hell of a temper.

 

We’re directed from the doorway on to rows of bleachers, overpacked already and ringing with the voices of excited teenagers. There’s distortion as the voices appear to all blur together, and though I hear snippets of distinct sentences it all seems mixed somehow, a collective buzz in my ears. I hear “Holy shit, Jenny, I haven’t seen you in like two weeks!” at the same time I hear “I swear, she never shuts up, I can never get a fucking word in… hey, are you listening?” while also hearing a loud cry of “Hey bitch!” 

Lazlo said something about checking out the wildlife before, but I’m starting to realise just how true that statement was now. This place is a damn jungle. 

“Quiet, please,” a tall black man in a slightly tight looking suit booms from the front, and everyone goes silent. I’m pretty sure this guy is Principal Wells, patriarch of Blackwell (and, if rumours are to be trusted, notorious acceptor of bribes). “My name is Principal Ray Wells, and I am the current principal of Blackwell Academy, the facility you will be attending for your senior years of high school.” Yeah, no shit, ‘Ray’. “It is my most sincere wish that all of you have the best year you possibly can. In saying that, I need to lay down some ground rules…” We listen distractedly as he drones on in a long list -- no running in the hallways, absolutely no drugs or alcohol on school property, no weapons of any form, bla bla bla. 

“I swear to God mate,” Lazlo whispers to me, “It’s like being trapped in my grandmother’s house the way he goes on…..” he sniffs the air like a gluttonous cokehead, grinning. “Smells like it too.”

A girl giggles behind him, and Lazlo turns his head to see, grinning. “You like that, huh?” 

Alex nervously darts his eyes around the room, trying not to move his head. He obviously prefers to see and not be seen, poor guy. “90 degrees left, guys,” he utters. Lazlo and I look over to see that girl from the parking lot, (the blonde one with the short temper) a few seats away, staring at us with a malicious edge in those deep brown eyes of hers. Lazlo clearly doesn’t give a shit as he kisses two of his fingers and salutes her. We all chuckle as she blushes, then chuckle extra hard when she clearly mouthes ‘Eat a dick’ at us. I get the distinct feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot of her this year.

“... and above all, at this school, we value professional integrity,” Principal Wells finishes, an air of self-appointed grandness to his tone. He pauses slightly, as if waiting for applause, then adds, “You may return to your dorms; orientation will resume in an hour. Enjoy your day!” I swear like ten people were clapping with anything that even remotely resembles enthusiasm, and the rest of us are just conforming with them to avoid an awkward pseudo-silence. The fact is that this “Ray Wells” is a small, uninspiring man who dresses like some sort of weird mix between a 1930’s clothing store mannequin and an oompa-loompa.

Unfortunately we all have to answer the call of duty and go on this boring tour of the classes we’re in. English, Math…. God it’s all so boring. They gave us a map of the school and a timetable ten minutes ago so what the fuck is the point? 

However... I do see her in photography class again. The girl from earlier, the would-be road pancake. I see her across the room as our teacher, some dude called Mark Jefferson whom apparently is supposed to be a big deal just drones on and on. She’s a small, unassuming girl. Wavy and shaggy brown hair that puts Alex’s bed-head to shame. Her clothes are pretty tacky and she wears a fucking messenger bag. In brief - a hipster. I just catch all the good ones, don’t I?

I almost start counting the freckles on her vacant, deer-like face but she spots me staring. I quickly avert my eyes and hope she doesn’t think I’m some sort of creep checking her out. If you think the cringe stops there and I’m off the hook… well you obviously haven’t met Lazlo.

“Seriously, Jack?” he whispers in my ear. “I taught you better than that, if you wanna bone that girl you’re not going the right away about it.”

My face is redder than a Phillipino hooker’s asscheek. “Shut up! I was just… looking at her!” I whisper loudly. And unconvincingly.

“Well if you really wanna go after that spastic I ain’t gonna stop ya, I just thought you had some ambition s’all.” he whispers back with a snigger. Prick.

“Gentlemen!” a hand slams on the table and echoes through the room. I realise with horror Jefferson is talking to us. Oh God, when will the nightmare end?

I rigidly lean away from Lazlo and move my face forward, though Lazlo’s composure is perfectly calm and still.

“If you boys are quite done ogling... Ms. Caulfield, right?” he asks, and she nods, rather too animatedly. Jefferson turns back to us. “Could you pay attention to me if it’s not too much trouble?” 

“I don’t think you’ll have a lot of success with these two,” a clear, bitchy sounding voice pipes up. I look over my shoulder to see the girl from the parking lot, the one Laz managed to piss off in the space of only a few minutes, looking directly at me. If looks could kill. “Though that’s administration’s fault, not yours. This is photography, not Special Ed, sorry boys.” 

Lazlo chuckles at her cheap shot barb “Fuck off, Baby Spice.”

“Why not take a picture, it might last long’a!” Victoria imitates in a rough voice, chuckling.

“Language, guys.” Jefferson drawls uninterestedly. “What’s the problem between you two?” he adds, flicking his finger back and forth between the blonde girl and Lazlo. 

Lazlo shrugs. “Apparently I found the school’s frigid!” he announces with his usual aura of smugness. “She’s annoyed at my womaniser charm.” At this point I notice the look on everyone else’s faces, they all look like goldfish at feeding time.

Victoria laughs at this, a cruel sound. “Sorry, say that again, ‘womaniser charm’? I hate to break it to you, but you look like a chicken nugget.”

“That’s enough!” Jefferson asserts firmly, an authoritative note in his tone that thankfully stops the two in their tracks. “Any more talk from you two and I’m kicking you out, I mean it. You’re at a seniors’ high school now, you act like adults. Come on.” 

Okay, I just have to chime in now, everyone is staring at me and Lazlo and it’s getting weird.

“Let it slide, Laz.” I say in a firm tone, knowing Lazlo may act stupid, but he will do what he’s told... Occasionally. I even get an appreciative look from Jefferson.

The girl I was staring at smiles the whole time, sitting there quietly. When our eyes meet she immediately glances down at her camera - an old retro polaroid thing - and starts playing with it idly. 

\- Later that day - 

My God, am I glad to be out of there. While mostly uneventful, Lazlo really put us in the hot seat. All the way through photography that blonde girl glared at us, more at Lazlo than I... I hope we’re cool, but if Lazlo’s analysis of her is to be believed she’ll hate me just on principal.

At the moment the three of us are just lazing in the sun waiting for the day to end. Alex has his laptop out, I’m on my phone idly texting people who pretend to be my friends, and Lazlo is sitting in a tree drinking some such foul concoction from that flask of his. Quite idyllic really, if only everyday was as peaceful as this one. Sadly, that’s seldom the case.

“I honestly don’t get your problem with that girl, Laz. Let it go, can’t you just… you know… blend in like the rest of us?” I honestly don’t think I’m asking a lot of him, but Lazlo apparently disagrees.

“It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I decide to lay down and let little insects like those two arseholes from the car park walk all over me. You two might be cool with being treated like dirt but I fucking am not.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t treat ya so bad if you hadn’t stepped to ‘em in the first place, eh?” I hear Alex add, not looking up from his laptop. “Maybe then you would’a gotten along better, don’t you think?”

“Don’t be a tit Alex, I know an arsehole when I see one, years of looking in the mirror does that to yer.” 

I’ve had enough of this, I don’t wanna hear about it any-fucking-more! “Then instead of bitching about it to us, why not fucking do something about it? Prove just how big and scary and tough you are.” Why did I say that? I really need to watch my stupid fat mouth!

Lazlo takes one final swig and slides down from the tree, landing cleanly on his feet with a crisp ruffle sound against the grass. “Alright, I will,” he says whilst looking off in the distance behind me, eyes straining. I look over my shoulder to see what has captured Lazlo’s eye; an open door at the side of a building. A janitor with a creepy look on his face emerges, carrying a bucket of paint.

“Come with me, Alex,” Lazlo utters quietly. “We’re gonna show Blondie the error of ‘er ways.”

And so it began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric: Blackwell hasn’t even started its school year yet, and already there are clashes. Victoria and Lazlo, Nathan and Lazlo, Madsen and Lazlo…  
> Yeah, there’s a lot of Lazlo here.
> 
> Cheese: I know, so there’s a lot of pressure on me to deliver an entertaining OC without fucking up the entire story. Wish me luck.
> 
> Victoria by Lyric and Jack by Cheese


	3. Max Ruins Everything

Wind whipping, howling, tracing the edges of my face like sandpaper. Rain pelting, too fast, can’t see, chilling me completely. Too completely. I’ve been out in storms before, but this is different. I can’t describe it, but this is dangerous. This is wrong. I’m trying to get to safety but the hailstones are everywhere, smashing to the ground, blinding me. Way bigger than any hailstone has the right to be. I’m breathing too hard, too fast, my heart pounding to the beat of the natural destruction around me. The wind isn’t strong, but fuck it’s cold. Nothing about this is right. Nothing about this is okay. Something terrible is going to happen, I can feel it. 

Lightning. 

Pain all over, inside me, in my organs. Pain like I’ve never felt before. Searing pain. Pain that takes the cold away. Pain that takes everything away. 

Blackout. 

*** Scene break***

I wake up with a jolt, panting, still shivering. Someone is knocking at my door. God, how long did I sleep for? And why that same dream? 

“Come in,” I say in my best ‘wide awake’ voice, running a hand through my hair and sitting up slowly. 

The door cracks open and Kate’s massive bun of hair peeks through, followed by her face. “Hey, are you okay? Orientation’s on in five minutes.” She pauses, scanning me, face breaking into a playful smile. “Were you asleep?” she asks, like she can’t tell I wasn’t. 

“Um… no,” I say, rubbing my eyes, trying not to smile as she giggles at this. “Okay, maybe I did. Give me a minute.” 

After a few minutes collecting myself, we head over to the hall where Principal Wells gives his compulsory speech about how to be the perfect upstanding Blackwell Academy student. We then do the tour around various classes. I meet my AP English teacher, my World History Teacher, all the others. The class I’m most excited about, Language of Photography, is the last on the list. Kate’s with me in that class, so I manage to catch her outside. Language of Photography is taught by Mark Jefferson, esteemed photographer and heartthrob of the girls’ dormitories, at least from what I could pick up. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come to Blackwell for him, at least partially anyway. He welcomes us all into his room with a smug smile, waving an arm in an almost self-deprecating way, a highly contradictory movement I find intriguing. We all filter in like excited sheep, and he starts his spiel, his voice comforting and slow. Halfway through I notice a boy with black hair wearing a navy blue sweater staring at me across the room, expression calm and factual, almost quizzical. I look away quickly. He gives me the chills. The boy next to sweater boy, wearing a leather jacket and a smug grin notices, this and mumbles something I can’t hear. Sweater boy blushes instantly, shooting back a reply. The moment is quickly broken up Jefferson’s voice, which send shockwaves up my spine instantly. 

“Gentlemen!” he shouts, slamming his hand on the desk, “If you boys are quite done ogling... Ms. Caulfield, right?” I look up, completely terrified, not wanting to be part of this ordeal in any way. Nodding up and down frantically to answer Mr. Jefferson’s question.

“Could you pay attention to me if it’s not too much trouble?” People are staring now, and all I want to do is run back to my room, curl up and die.

“I don’t think you’ll have a lot of success with these two,” a girl I recognise from the room across from mine pipes up. “Though that’s administration’s fault, not yours. This is photography, not Special Ed, sorry boys.” 

I watch in bemused horror as one of the guys retorts with “Fuck off, Baby Spice”, trying to calm my heart rate as the attention shifts slowly off me. I’m not sure what kind of problem those two have with each other, but I get the distinct impression they’ve crossed paths before. God. Is this what this school is going to be like? Constant drama? Fights in the middle of class? This isn’t what I signed up for. 

Mr Jefferson lets the argument go on for a while and then shuts it down, and thankfully the rest of the class goes on relatively drama free. I don’t even look in the direction of Sweater Boy. After the introduction is finished we all stream out in the same way we came in, and nothing else to do, Kate and I walk back to our dormitories. As soon as we get through the door, she giggles “That was something, huh?”

I groan, sitting down on her bed and putting my head in my hands. “I guess that’s one way to put it.” 

“It seemed like you were the source of that little argument, what with that new boy staring at you….” she states quietly, but I can see a subtle smirk on her face.

“I don’t know what that was about,” I say honestly, shivering a little as I remember that intense look in his eyes. Like he knew something about me I didn’t. /

Kate shrugged, “Well if I were you I’d stay out of it. Victoria isn’t exactly a saint, you know?”

“That was that blonde girl, right? What have you heard about her?” 

“Well I haven’t heard an awful lot, but I haven’t heard anything good, know what I mean?” Kate shuffled to one side, voice lowered. Clearly the walls have ears here. “She comes from a pretty wealthy family though, one that could rival even the Prescotts.”

“Great. So she’s pretty much the archetypal rich bi-” Kate raises an eyebrow and I stop myself, pretend to cough. “Rich girl,” I finish somewhat lamely. 

Kate nods “Well... just be careful, its not the kind of business you want to get mixed up in.” she looks up at me with concern. 

“I will, don’t worry,” I smile at her, then rub my face with my hand. “Uuughh. Why does everything have to be so complicated?” 

She giggles “Welcome to Blackwell, Max. Do you have any other plans for today? We could hang out if you’re not busy.” 

Am I busy? I don’t think so. “That sounds nice, Kate. What do you want to do?” 

“Well… the weather’s nice outside. We could go out, walk around campus, meet the others from photo class and maybe if we have time I could make us some tea.”

I smile again. “Okay, let’s do it.” 

 

***

 

Exploring Blackwell with Kate is refreshing. We walk around the classes, take photos of random statues and scenes of interest around campus, talk to a few people I recognise from some of my classes. At one point, a nerdy guy I recognise from Algebra comes up and introduces himself as Warren. He’s kind of short for a guy, with wiry brown hair that matches his eyes and a big, goofy grin. He seems to know Kate, though he mostly talks to me, yammering on about science and some obscure theory I’ve never heard of. It’s a bit too intense for me. 

At one point I go to check the time and realise I’ve forgotten my phone in my room, so I head back to get it. I’m almost at my room when the same angry blonde from Photography bursts out of the door opposite mine, looking ready to kill. “Get out of my way!” she snaps at me, then strides down the hall, shutting the end door with a slam. 

Of course the Queen Bitch of Blackwell is living in the room opposite me. Of course. 

As I’m leaving myself, phone in hand, I see another person from Photography. The guy in the leather jacket, the one who was sitting next to the staring boy. Uncomfortable, I try to avoid him, but he looks right at me and beckons me over. 

“Hold on a second, “ he says with a sharp whistle like I’m some kind of dog “just a minute, girlie.” He has the most smug look on his face, standing there with his hands in his jean pockets. Dick.

I consider ignoring him, but that’s a level of rude I haven’t reached yet. “What?” I ask, trying to sound as unfriendly as possible. 

He sucks at his teeth “Tisk, tisk. Manners are universal, road retard. Didn’t your mum ever tell you that?”

I don’t reply to this, just stare, officially pissed off. 

“Good idea, I’d shut the fuck up too.” he says as he lurches off of the wall he leant on, “But i’m gonna need you to speak up this time; where exactly is Victoria Chase’s dorm? Point it out will ya?”

“Why do you want to know?” I ask, uncomfortable. Whatever he’s asking sounds like a one-way ticket into some kind of drama, and that’s the last thing I need. 

“Ain’t it obvious? She wants a piece of my fine arse so I have to get over there and take advantage, I mean.. well… look at me.” he says as he waves his palm up and down his face. “You really wanna keep poor Victoria waiting?” he says with the smuggest grin I’ve seen yet. 

I don’t reply again, trying to think of a good answer. Frozen. 

The dude, Lazlo I think his name is, sighs and whispers to himself “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way then.” he says.

Before I have time to even comprehend what he meant he grabs me by the shoulder and quite forcefully pins me to the wall with one hand in a flash-like twist. It didn’t hurt when he pressed me against the wall but fuck was it forceful.

He leans down to meet my eye-level “Listen you. I’ve ‘ad a long, tiring day and I’m not in the mood for yer school girl bullshit. Victoria made that mistake earlier this morning and now she’s about to taste the fury, unless you want a little dose of what she’s about to get I’d start being a bit more ‘elpful. Got it?” he hisses all of this in my face, my heart is pounding, my head is racing. I’m compelled to give him what he wants, I have no choice at this point.

“Room two-two-one,” I say in barely a whisper, pathetically close to tears. 

His face brightens up and he lets go of me “See? Was that so hard? Thank you.” he says while brushing the right lapel on his jacket. “Alright now piss off.”

I stagger away from him, walking away with tears in my eyes. I cover my face when I see another dude on the path walk past me, the third guy from the parking lot in the green hoodie. Is he… carrying a bucket of paint?

“Hope he didn’t give you too hard a time.” he sniggers at me as he paces past me, whistling a happy tune. I look back to see him met up with Lazlo at the entrance to the dorms, Lazlo spots me staring and with a stern glare and a flick of the back of his hand gestures me to fuck off. 

So I fuck off.

I don’t know where I’m going, but all I know is I’m getting away. A lump in my throat, holding back tears, I half-run, half-walk away, trying to breathe evenly. Everything is going wrong. I would never have come here if I’d known everything was going to be so crazy. First the drama in Photography, now I’m getting involved in some drama with a girl who’d probably sue me as soon as look at me, not to mention I’ve pissed off the resident psychopath. Why me? How do I seem to attract all this drama? It’s the only first day, for fuck sakes. 

I find a bathroom and slip in. Great, now nobody can see my meltdown. Only me. I splash water on my face, trying to calm down, hoping I don’t look like a total loser. There’s a pair of glasses and a crown drawn on the mirror that somehow seems ominous, malevolent. It feels like the universe is taunting me everywhere I go today. 

And then, the final taunt: the door opens, and after a pause, a female voice calls out to me.

“Well shit, if it isn’t Max Caulfield.”

I turn around to see nobody but my old friend Chloe Price standing there, so changed over the years but somehow still the same, blue eyes that match her now-blue hair piercing mine. She’s not smiling.

“Yeah,” she says, her tone flat, “We’re gonna need to talk.”

Le end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheese: My god, sorry about that! If you want someone to blame for how long this chapter took to make, blame Lyric. It was all her fault I swear.
> 
> Lyric: Fuck you, Cheese.
> 
> Cheese: Don’t mind if I do.
> 
> Lyric: Don’t make me puke. Seriously though, we’re sorry for the slow update, and yes it was my fault. Deepest condolences.


	4. The Pickup

Arcadia Bay whips by in a blur as we drive through, the golden afternoon sunlight illuminating everything, sea breeze ruffling the trees. The car reeks of cigarette smoke and weed. There’s trash on the floor, a skull hanging from the rearview mirror, writing in black marker on the car walls. I haven’t been in a car this dirty in years. 

Chloe sits next to me, still frowning, driving one-handed as she leans out the window. We’ve been driving like this for a while now, in complete silence, Chloe seeming to sense I’m not ready to talk just yet. Which of course she would know. She always knew when I was upset when we were kids, could see it in an instant. 

God, I feel like shit. 

“Hey, um… Thanks, Chloe,” I manage to say, unable to think of anything else. Not able to look at her properly, not yet. 

“For what?” She says this kind of gruffly, but the edge is gone from her voice. She glances over at me and I can’t meet her eyes.

“I… I don’t know. For the car ride. Maybe for not yelling at me. I don’t know.” I’m not as close to tears as I was, but my nerves are on fire. I can still remember the fight, her screaming at me, the things we said to each other. Judging from her tight grip on the wheel and gruff tone she remembers it too. I want to ask how she’s been, to ask a million questions really, but my throat is parchment-dry and my mind is frozen. 

“Come on, don’t give me the guilty face,” she snorts, relenting a little. “At least pretend you’re glad to see me.”

“I am seriously glad to see you,” I say instantly, meeting her eyes for the first time. The expression in them softens and she smiles for the first time. That’s the Chloe I remember right there. She’s changed a lot in those three years, grown tall and slender as a telephone pole, decked out in a monochromatic punk style with -- is that a tattoo? On her arm? It’s a swirling mixture of flowers and thorns tied up with a red ribbon, a skull in the middle. It’s got to be one of the coolest tattoos I’ve ever seen. Not to mention her hair, which is a short shock of blue now. I’m never gonna get over that hair. She always talked about wanting to dye it as a kid, and we both agreed we’d do it someday, but now she’s actually done it--

“What’s up, Max? You’re staring a bit there,” she says, smirking. “Mind you, I’d be staring if I were you. There’s uh… well, a lot’s happened since you left.”

“Yeah, I did get that impression,” I say, suddenly shy again. “Hey, I’m… I’m sorry. About. You know. Everything.” 

“Hmph.” Chloe grunts, looking back to the road, her expression hardening again. Looks like that conversation topic is off-limits, at least for now. There’s a moment of silence where she moves her tongue around her mouth, thinking, before she speaks again. “So, I guess Seattle sucked hard?”

I think about that one for a while. “I guess it was cool, but…” What was it about Seattle? The storm flashes across my mind, but I block it out, closing my eyes for a moment. “I felt kind of lonely, out of my league.” This is the truth, but not the whole truth. I had two friends in all of Seattle. We hung out sometimes, but I was never as close to them as I was to Chloe, never felt overly connected to them. Seattle was scary and big, a huge shock after the calmness of Arcadia Bay. Not good for anxiety. Not my kind of place.

“I would think you’d fit right in with the art school hipsters,” Chloe grumbles, not buying it. 

“Right,” I almost laugh. “You look the like cover of Hipster Girl dot com.” The joke slips out so suddenly, like we’re thirteen again and joking around like nothing changed. Luckily, Chloe laughs at this.

“At least you’re still a smartass.”

“That’s why I’m here.” My retort makes no sense, but it’s something, and Chloe doesn’t comment. She’s back to smiling again. 

“Please, girl. You came back for Blackwell Academy.” She seems to be enjoying herself now. Her grip on the steering wheel is looser and she’s leaning back, more relaxed. Thank god. 

“Of course,” I admit, finding myself smiling too. “It’s one of the best photography programs in the country. And the teacher, Mark Jefferson, is renowned. I don’t think he likes me, though.” I think back to class, how he singled me out even though I didn’t do anything. That was a dick move.

“So you came back to Arcadia for a teacher who doesn’t even like you,” Chloe snorts, on a slight edge again. Man, her emotions are changing faster than a storm at sea. I’m gonna have to be careful if I don’t want to be shipwrecked. 

“Don’t you think I’m happy to see you?” I ask, trying to re-direct the conversation. That’s something I can’t lie about. I’ll always be happy to see her.

“I don’t know,” she asks darkly, frowning again. “Are you?” I hear the hurt in her tone now, the pain from the fight. The pain from me leaving. She seems to be fighting a mental battle with herself, the fight between forgiveness and resentment. For both of our sakes I hope she forgives me. 

“Yes,” I say forcefully, leaning forwards. “That fight was…” she tenses up more as I mention this, but I continue, needing to say it. “The fight was horrible, and I never want to fight with you like that again. But… I didn’t command my parents to move specifically to fuck you over, Chloe.”

“Yeah? And when were you gonna drop me a text to say you were back in town? I can’t see us bumping into each other if we weren’t both Blackwell students, small as this town is.”

“You’re a Blackwell student?” I blurt, surprised.

Chloe looks at me like maybe I’m stupid, and to be fair, it was a pretty stupid thing to say. “Um, yeah? Why else would I be at Blackwell? I do more than vandalize and burn shit, you know. I’m not completely braindead.” 

“I didn’t mean--” I start to say, but Chloe cuts me off.

“Whatever, Max. I bet you don’t use those sad excuses on Mr Jefferson, no matter how much you piss him off. Don’t use them on me.”

There’s a long, long silence as Chloe drives and I sit there guiltily. The sunlight streams through her hair and catches all the angles of her face, creating a chiaroscuro effect that does things to me I can’t describe. She’s still frowning, but I can feel her cooling down, the lines of her forehead slowly softening. She looks like a punk rock angel. 

I have to take a picture of her.

I reach into my bag, grab my camera, and thumb it around in my hands for a while. I could ask permission to take her picture, but that might spoil the effect.

“Take the fucking picture,” she says, neutrally this time. Right. I guess that wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was, not to mention she has the uncanny ability to read me like an open picturebook. I raise the camera, frame the shot, and snap the photo. “It come out good?” Chloe asks, in the same neutral tone. 

“I don’t know yet. It’s an old camera, it takes a while to develop.” 

Her eyes narrow slightly, almost in a flinch. “Right. Yeah, Dad had a camera like that. It’s still in my room actually.” She looks over at me shaking the picture and grabs my hand, almost swerving off the road. “The fuck are you doing? You don’t shake ‘em, that makes ‘em come out all fucked, what the hell?”

“What? I’ve never heard that anywhere,” I yelp, snatching my hand back. “Where did you hear--”

“How the hell did you not know? Everyone knows that. How’ve your pictures been turning out?”

“I mean, they’ve been pretty good--”

“Stop shaking them or they’ll start turning out bad, Christ, Max.” She stares at me for a while, frowning, and for a second I’m convinced she’ll hit me. 

Then she just laughs, heartily, and suddenly I’m laughing too, just laughing and laughing as the car zooms on through the roads of Arcadia Bay, reunited with my best friend from childhood, everything suddenly okay. 

“You know, I really missed you,” Chloe says fondly when the laughter has died out. “And.” She swallows. “And I’m sorry for the fight. That wasn’t fair on you. It made a lot more sense at the time. “

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about, Chloe. I missed you too.”

She reaches over and touches my shoulder, kind of a friendly shove, kind of just breaking down the invisible barrier we once had between us. 

“Welcome home, Max.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, Lyric here. I'm in charge of writing Max and Chloe so you have me to thank for this entire gay-ass chapter. Hope you enjoy, but if you don't, please feel free to verbally lynch me. Have a grand old day


	5. Winter comes to Blackwell

Lazlo’s POV

Click

“Wow, that was easier than I thought’d be.”

“Told you, this school has an adequate amount of funding, but the security budget gets zilch.”

I stand up, opening the door and admiring my handiwork, pulling my lockpick out with the satisfaction comparable to a mid-morning fuck.

We walk in slowly, taking in the atmosphere of this pretentious little bitch’s home. It’s exactly how I pictured it: full of needless shit, and so toxically feminine I can practically feel my Y chromosome dissolving. I take in a big gulp of the air. It reeks of perfume.

“So uh… what are we doing here?” Alex whines behind me, carefully lifting the paint bucket above his head and slowly onto the top of the door. “My arm is about to fall off, this can of paint isn’t as light as it looks ya know.”

“As I said earlier, we’re gonna send Eva Braun here a little ‘fuck you’ present. And what better way to do that than to ruin her fucking granny clothing with a nice, big dollop of oil paint.” Taking a small stride around the bed, further taking in the atmosphere, the decor… christ it’s horrifying girly.

“Well it is kinda cliche, the whole paint-bucket-on-the-door thing.”

“No school like the old school, Alex. Now then, hop on this stool and pop it on the door, and be careful for fuck’s sake.”

Alex sighs and rolls his eyes as I slide a leather footstool over with my leg.

“What are you gonna be doing exactly?”

Oh Alex, on point as always. A grin slowly creeps across my beautiful, beautiful face. “I’m glad you asked.”

I walk around the room leisurely, admiring the little furnishings of bitch-face's boudoir. I pick up a little makeup box and open it, sliding the opening mechanism with a click. The lid opens to reveal a spectrum of purples to pinks. I smile and carelessly chuck the makeup box on the floor, smearing the carpet with the various shades of eye-shadow as it mixes together in some very disgusting mess of violet.

I continue to pace around like a caged lion, arm stretched out, knocking various knick-knacks off the table except the laptop. I’ll come back for you later.

“Laz, what the fuck are you doing?” Alex continues to whinge as he carefully balances the paint bucket on the top of the door.

“I’m redecorating the place and I like what I see so far, screw this photography shit, sign me up for Homes under the hammer!” I laugh, opening her wardrobe door, flicking carelessly through the various sweaters, t-shirts and… dresses? Grabbing them by the coathangers and flinging them across the room, some land on the bed, some land on her desk and some land on the floor. “Bitch should be grateful, it looks better this way.”

“Alright,” Alex chimes in, jumping off the stool and landing on the floor with a thump. “I think that’s enough, let’s get out of here before someone else spots us.”

I turn around to face him. “Someone else?”

Alex’s face darkens with boredom and he rolls his eyes. “Duh, I’m talking about the girl you were strong-arming outside. What if she links this all to us?”

I laugh in his face, all previous concern he’d worked up vanishing into thin air. “She won’t, she’ll be too shit-scared to finger us even if this is linked to us in the first place. Chase is bound to have had others who’d do this to her in a heartbeat, had they the bollocks to do it. We’ll be fine.”

Alex swallows. “We’d better be.”

 

***

 

Max’s POV

Chloe’s truck pulls up in front of Blackwell, the big brick building towering in front of us. Its windows glow almost golden in the afternoon sun, looking cathedral-like, unreal. Hard to believe I haven’t even been here one day and it already feels like home. Though I’m starting to realise today that multiple places can feel like home. 

“Thanks for the drive, Chloe,” I say. Chloe smiles at me, head tilted like she’s amused. A cigarette hangs from her mouth, but the car windows are down so my lungs are safe. 

“No problem, Mad Max. I’ll uh, I’ll catch you around sometime, huh?”

“That would be nice.” I wave at her as she drives off, her dusty pickup spewing black smoke out into the air, one hand stretching out the open window in a haphazard attempt at waving back. 

I walk back to my dorm room, cold under the shadows of the overcast trees, getting lost once or twice along the way but eventually finding it. 

As soon as I open the door to the girls’ dorms I enter a crime scene. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Yells a pissed off, paint covered Victoria Chase in all her glory. She’s absolutely coated, almost unrecognisable as a human being, fuming with rage and looking more terrifying than ever. Her once-blonde hair is a white coating on the top of her head. Her cashmere coat is now a white glistening sheen, unrecognisable as a piece of designer clothing. A gloop of the oily white substance coating her traces its way down her nose and lands on the carpet with a plop. She seems lost for words, so filled with fury she has no capacity for the English language, and she simply screams. 

“Oh my god...” I mutter under my breath, amused. What the hell is going on?

Behind me I hear a sadistic, gleeful and booming laugh. Oh no. I whip my head round to see Lazlo, leaning against the wall next to some other guy. The guy who passed me a while ago carrying paint. Oh fucking hell, of course. 

“That’s the biggest bukkake I’ve ever seen! Kudos, Victoria!” Lazlo says in between chuckles and what sounds like gasps of air. He’s clearly enjoying himself, red in the face, laughing like his lungs are going to explode. The friend beside him is smiling. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what just happened. 

“Fuck you, Lazlo!” Victoria screams. If she wasn’t covered in paint she’d be red in the face too. I picture her glowing red hot with rage to the point where the paint bubbles and sizzles, and I have to bite back a laugh. “You ruined everything! Do you know how expensive this outfit was? I can’t believe you’d do this!” I laugh a little too loudly and her head snaps in my direction. Shit. “Fuck you, hipster,” she hisses. If anyone knows how to make words hit you like a slap in the face, it’s Victoria. Even when she does look like a melting scoop of vanilla icecream. 

“I’m capable of worse, ‘Toria, much worse. Don’t sweat it about the sweater, I’m sure daddy will buy ya a new one.” Lazlo drawls his sentences out, savouring the words, the dictionary definition of smug. His smile evaporates when he looks my way. “You. As far as you’re concerned, we were never ‘ere, yeah?”

I can only nod as I stand there, transfixed by the scene. Victoria screams again, not even words anymore, just a guttural shriek, and heads to the showers. The door slams behind her. There’s an awkward pause where I stay standing there, trying not to look in Lazlo’s direction, unsure what to do, until he speaks again. 

“Good, good,” he mumbles, fumbling around in his inside jacket pocket, producing a small silvery slip. “‘Ere’s some gum for ya trouble.” He forces it into my outstretched fingers and I have no option but to accept it. His fingers are warm and clammy. 

Lazlo’s friend, the paint-carrying kid with the hoodie, looks up from his phone. He’s suddenly businesslike. “We need to move, Laz. Jack wants you to help shift the TV into his dorm.”

Laz sighs with boredom “Ugh. Fine. We’ll be keepin’ an eye on ya, road retard. Keep yer mouth shut.” 

The two of them disappear through the dorm front doors, leaving me standing there, hand still slightly outstretched as it holds the gum.

God damn it, Lazlo. 

***

I’m in my dorm room re-evaluating my life decisions when the phone rings. The music is blaring, playing a Syd Matters album, the now-decorated walls of my room looking a little less unfamiliar. I don’t recognise the number. 

“Hello?” I say, preparing for the worst. 

“Maxine Caulfield? This is Principal Wells. I got your number off your student file, I hope you don’t mind.” I do mind, very much, but please continue, sir. “Would you be able to come into my office to talk about the incident that took place about half an hour ago? I’ve heard you were then when it happened.”

Oh god, no. Anything but this. “Um, yeah, okay.”

“Thank you, Maxine. I’ll see you in five minutes.” He hangs up without saying goodbye.

I groan loudly, lying back on my bed. This isn’t good.

 

***

 

Principal Wells’ office is well air-conditioned, somehow smelling of new building though I know Blackwell must be at least a hundred years old. There’s another faint tang too, one I can’t quite place. Bourbon, maybe? That can’t be right. Maybe it’s just the smell of my own regret. 

As I walk into the room the three of them turn and look at me, turning my entrance into an introductory walk of shame. There’s Wells, in his impeccable black suit with his shiny bald head and greedy eyes; Lazlo, with his careless grin and cold, calculating pale blue eyes; and of course, Victoria, impressively paintless and once again dressed flawlessly, though I can see there’s still spots where she couldn’t quite get the paint off. 

“Sit down, Maxine,” Wells says, not quite kindly. There’s only one chair left and that’s the chair in between Lazlo and Victoria. I really don’t want to sit there, but they’re all staring at me and I can feel my heart beat with anxiety, so I nod politely and sit down. “Now, could you tell me what you saw, please.”

Victoria butts in immediately. “He doused me in fucking paint is what happened. You saw it, Maxine!” 

Lazlo sniggers at her. “Uh no I didn’t darlin’, I was here because… Max ‘ere wanted ‘elp movin’ her bed closer to the window. Isn’t that right, Max? We're friends, and friends ‘elp each other out.” He says this with his faced turned away from Wells, brutish face frowning at me in an undisguised threat. Victoria scowls at him the whole time. 

“He’s so full of shit, sir, can’t you--” Victoria starts, but Wells cuts her off.

“Enough, enough. Both of you just… be quiet, okay?” He waves his hand, pressing a finger to his forehead like he’s either getting a headache or already has one. “I called Maxine here in to hear what she saw, not to hear you two squabbling like children.” He points his hand at me. “Maxine. Tell me what happened. Now.”

Lazlo turns his head slightly to me, smiling pleasantly. “Yeah, Max. Tell the Principal what *really* ‘appened.”

Well, fuck.

Do I piss off the influential rich girl, whose wardrobe is probably worth more than I’ll ever be in my entire adult life? Who could ruin my social life with a single Facebook status? Who can put out vibes that she’s better than me even though I can see paint in the creases of her ear?

Or do I piss off the cold-blooded psychopath, who can make my skin crawl with a single smile and pushed me up a wall on the first day of meeting me? The psychopath who’s staring at me right now, blue eyes so pale he could be blind, but who stares with the clarity of someone who sees every single move I make? 

If I tell Principal Wells what really happened, I’m afraid of what Lazlo might do. But what if I mention his aggressions towards me as well? Would that result in anything? Or would I just be making myself even more of a target? Victoria is dangerous in her own way, I have to remember that. While I don’t think she’d do anything physical, she could probably spread some horrible rumour about me, make me a social outcast right from the first day on. The thought of that scares me worse than the thought of any physical punishment. 

What would Chloe say?

I take a deep breath, and tell the story I know is the right one to say. 

“I saw it. Lazlo set up a paint can so it would fall on Victoria’s head. He was laughing and pointing at her.” My words hang in the air like a solid substance. I avoid Lazlo’s eyes. Victoria nods at me, pleased, hazel eyes more approving. “And… and he also pushed me up against a wall until I told him where her room was.” 

Principal Wells nods his head slowly, listening to me, clearly thinking hard. 

“Is this true, Hadrian?”

Lazlo’s demeanor changes somehow upon hearing that name. Subtle, but there. I wonder what that’s all about. “It’s your decision, sir. But I’m tellin’ you, I never once set foot in Victoria’s room, and I never once put a finger on Max. Considerin’ Max’s desperation to get with Victoria’s crew it doesn’t surprise me she’s willin’ to jump on the band wagon with these… misunderstandings.”

“Um, ew, like I’d let a hipster into the Vortex Club,” Victoria scoffs, gesturing at me. “No offense, Maxine.” 

“Max, never Maxine,” I mumble, embarrassed, but everyone ignores me.

“I am literally covered in paint. I have a witness. What more evidence do you need?” Victoria laughs, clearly pissed off. She throws her arms up in the air. “Video footage? A signed can of paint? This is ridiculous.” 

Lazlo favours Wells with a warm smile, the smile of a friend. “Come on, Mr. Principal. You know I’d never do somethin’ like this anyway. At least four guys will tell you I was with Jack setting up ‘is new TV at the time.”

“I thought you said you were helping me move my bed, Lazlo?” I ask, and the room goes quiet for a moment. The silence is shattered when Victoria squawks out a laugh. 

“Ha! She’s got you there, asshole,” Victoria purrs, looking incredibly smug. Arms crossed over her white cashmere sweater, elegant hands poised.

Lazlo pursed his lips and swallows a little, nervous. “Well yeah… ‘course I was. But before then I was with Jack and Alex… which is where I was presumably when the whole paint prank was set up. And I couldn’t ‘ave been there any time before that, because we were all at orientation.”

“Sir, he’s lying through his teeth, can’t you see--”

“Alright, enough,” Wells sighs. “Well, since we don’t have any evidence supporting either story, I can’t punish either of you. So all I can say is, Hadrian.” He glares at Lazlo. “I don’t want to hear any stories about you being inflammatory.” Lazlo starts to protest, but Wells cuts him off. “And ladies,” he turns, addressing me and Victoria, looking even sterner. “Making baseless accusations will get you nowhere with me. I don’t care if you’re good friends, in the same club, anything like that, I don’t care. In the adult world that’s called defamation, and I won’t have any of it.” He pauses, sighs again like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. I look at the sweat that’s formed on his bald, shiny, chocolate coloured head and I decide he’s one of the least impressive human beings I’ve ever encountered in my life. “Now, all of you, get out of here. I don’t want to see you in here again.” 

Victoria just sits there with her mouth open, almost comically dumbstruck by Wells’ uselessness. Even though I’m pretty mad too I have the absurd urge to laugh at her. She looks like one of those ball-in-the-mouth clowns you’d find at a circus, paint job and all. “I can’t fucking believe this,” Victoria just says, in a small voice. “I cannot fucking believe this.”

Lazlo shuffles his legs over one another uncomfortably, fist clutching his teeth, trying to retain a laugh as he gets up and dusts his jeans off. “I swear on my dad’s life, sir, you will never see me ‘ere again. Later, V. Max,” he adds sternly, struggling to get his arms though the sleeves of his jacket as he leaves the office. 

I wait a few seconds then get up and leave too, trying to make a quick escape, but Victoria calls me over as soon as she’s out the door. 

“Maxine. Can I have a word?”

I screw my face up, sigh, and turn around to face her. “It’s Max, actually. Yeah, Victoria?”

Victoria looks almost nervous, rubbing her arm in an uncharacteristically awkward way. “Hey, I just wanted to say thank you. It would have been easy for you to lie back there, and you didn’t, so I appreciate it.” This takes me completely by surprise. Victoria, thanking me? Could I have misjudged her? 

“Um, no problem, Victoria.” I pause slightly, then have to add, “Even hipsters have moral codes, you know.”

Her face reddens slightly. “I’m sorry for that. Heat of the moment thing. You understand.”

I nod awkwardly. Victoria coughs, clears her throat, then says, “Okay, I’m gonna go now.”

“That, um. Sounds good.” 

Victoria nods. “Yes.” She walks off then, quite fast, disappearing behind the curve of a building within a few seconds. I watch her leave, then exhale into the afternoon air.

Man, what a day.


End file.
